


The Thing

by Todesengel



Category: Voltron: Lion Voltron
Genre: Alcohol, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-04-19
Updated: 2002-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-22 17:30:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Todesengel/pseuds/Todesengel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lance is just trying to be a good friend, Keith clearly has other ideas, and nobody throws a hissy fit quite like Sven</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thing

“The thing is. The thing is. The thing is.” Keith paused, turned a bleary eye on Lance. “The thing is, I forgot the thing.”

Lance grunted and nodded, and shifted so that Keith’s weight wasn’t directly on the bruise on his shoulder. He tried to breathe through his mouth to avoid the stench that radiated from Keith’s body, a noxious mixture of alcohol and vomit. Lance wondered, for a moment, why Keith didn’t sound nearly as drunk as Lance did when he was drunk. Then Keith shifted and for such a thin guy, he sure weighed a lot, bowing Lance’s shoulders, and the question was pushed back into the recesses of Lance’s mind as he tried to stay upright. They were only a few feet from the outside door to Lance’s dorm, and if Keith didn’t try to resist again, they would soon be inside and on their way to the showers where, hopefully, some of Keith’s particular aroma could be washed away.

“The thing, Lance,” Keith began again, “is that I am drunk.”

“Yes, yes you are,” Lance said. They were through the door and into the hallway now, and Lance was suddenly extremely grateful that he lived on the ground floor. He couldn’t imagine wrestling Keith up a flight of stairs or into an elevator.

Keith nodded slowly. “Right. I’m drunk. And you know why?”

“No. Why?” Lance wrestled Keith through the bathroom door and into a shower stall, pushing him down onto the old, water stained bench. Keith’s words flowed over him, the drunken ramblings of a man who didn’t know how to hold his liquor.

“Because I don’t drink. That’s why.” Keith tilted his head down to look at the back of Lance’s head. “I am the good one, right? I’m the one who’s always dragging your sorry ass back here. So why am I drunk?”

“I don’t know.” Lance pulled on Keith’s foot and his boot popped off suddenly, causing Lance to fall back and grunt in pain. “Fuck.”

“I am drunk.” Keith nodded slowly, and let his head fall back to rest against the cool, rough bathroom wall.

“Yes, I think we’ve established this.” The buzz was wearing off and Lance was getting crabby.

“I got dumped.” Keith paused, waiting for Lance to respond. When no answer was forthcoming, he continued, saying, “That’s why I’m drunk.”

“Uh huh.”

“I got dumped.” Keith shook his head slowly. “I don’t get dumped. I mean, look at me. I’m attractive, right?” He paused for a moment and glared down at Lance, who was busily working Keith’s other shoe. “Lance, you’re not looking.”

“Of course I am,” Lance said. He’d finished with the shoes and was working on Keith’s pants now. “You are very attractive.”

He was quite proud of the fact that he managed to say that without letting even an ion of his hidden desire seep out. Not like Keith would notice anyway, as drunk as he was. Lance doubted Keith would notice if he stripped naked and gave the other youth a lap dance while waving a neon sign that read, “I’m gay and I want to jump your bones.”

“Right.” Keith nodded to himself. “I’m attractive. I’m one heck of a catch, really. I’m good looking, and I’m smart, and nice, and considerate.”

“Up with the arms.” Lance pulled Keith’s shirt off, and suddenly they were eye-to-eye, Keith naked now and Lance thinking about how badly he wished Keith were naked before him under some other circumstances.

“You’d date me, if you were, you know.” Keith looked into Lance’s eyes, all drunken innocence and smooth flesh, and flushed cheeks.

Lance swallowed and looked away, busying himself with gathering up Keith’s stained clothing. “Yeah. I’d date you.”

“Good.” Keith smiled happily.

“Right. Into the shower with you.” Lance pushed Keith into the shower and sighed when the other boy slumped to the ground, giggling softly. He turned on the water and left, heading back to his shared double. And if the water was a little colder than may have been humane, well, there was always the possibility that it might sober Keith up a little.

Sven was still awake and reading in bed when Lance entered their shared room, and he looked up, mildly surprised by the other’s return.

“I didn’t expect you back so soon. What happened? Did you not get lucky?”

Lance shook his head in disgust and stripped out of his stained clothing. “Nope. I took Keith to a party – you know, the one on L Street? – and I kind of lost him there, so I spent the rest of the night looking for him.”

“Ahh. And where is Keith now?”

“Sitting in the shower and hopefully sobering up a little.” Lance was in his boxers now, and busy gathering his toiletries. He threw the soiled clothing into a trash bag with some relief, making a mental note to have everything burned. “He is really trashed, Sven. I mean, he can’t even see straight, he’s throwing up…” Lance trailed off and Sven let out a slow, shocked whistle.

“Wow.” Sven put down his book. “Why? Did he just decide to get drunk and misjudged his tolerance level?”

“No.” Lance sighed. “No. He got dumped. I guess she must have been pretty fucking special, whoever she was.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice this time, but that was okay, because Sven knew all about his secret, forever unrequited desire for Keith.

“Lance.”

Of course, sometimes having somebody know that you were secretly lusting after your mutual friend wasn’t always a good thing, and Lance knew better by now than to even try to ignore Sven when he was using _that_ particular tone of voice.

“Yes?” Still, just because he knew better didn’t mean he couldn’t try to project an aura of innocent incomprehension.

“Lance, are you sure you should be doing this?”

“You think I should just put him to bed smelling like he is?”

Okay, yes, he was being purposely dense, but he didn’t need this right now. He hadn’t even thought—Well, okay, he had thought a little, well, a lot, well, more like almost constantly, actually, about the fact that Keith was going to be naked, that he was going to be touching a _naked_ Keith with some kind of technical immunity, but he wasn’t going to take advantage of the situation. Much.

“Lance, this reeks of ‘bad idea.’” Sven focused all of his potent gaze on Lance, and the other squirmed uncomfortably. “You can’t be seriously considering jumping into the shower with _Keith_. When he’s _drunk_. And, quite possibly, horny as all hell since he’s just been dumped.”

Lance thought for a moment. Yep. That sounded about right.

“Why not? I’m doing him a favor. It’s not like I’m going to grope him or anything. Besides, he’s cleaned me up after I’ve gotten drunk before. Why is it such a bad thing for me to return the favor?”

“…Okay…” Sven rubbed his forehead, the first twinges of a headache stabbing at the back of his eyes. “And what are you going to do with him after you bathe him? Put him to bed?”

“Sure.” Lance shrugged. “He can sleep in my bed and—what? _Now_ what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? Well, let’s recap: One, you have this whole ‘unrequited lust’ thing going on as far as Keith is concerned. Two, you’ve never been known as Mr. Self-Restraint. Three, it’s just a fucking bad idea to have Keith, drunk, in your bed. For Christ’s sake, I bet you haven’t even told Keith that you’re gay yet!”

There was a strained pause as Lance looked everywhere except at Sven

“You haven’t?!”

“It’s never come up,” Lance mumbled.

Sven shook his head. “I can’t believe you. You are such a fucking coward. Do you think Keith is shallow enough to stop being your friend just because you’re gay?”

“No.”

“Then why—“ Sven stopped. “No. You know what, it’s way too late to be having this conversation with you. Fine. Do what you want. But don’t you dare come crying to me when the shit hits the fan.” Sven grabbed a blanket off of his bed and stuffed his feet into his shoes.

“Where are you going?”

“To the lounge. I want no part of your sordid doings.” He strode out the door, and Lance watched him go, mildly stunned.

Nobody, but nobody, could throw a hissy fit like Sven. If it wasn’t for the fact that Lance had accidentally walked in on Sven and a girl “getting their grooves on,” Lance would have suspected that the Swede might not be all that straight.

Left to his own devices, Lance began to doubt if this was really the right thing to be doing. He knew, logically, that he would be able to control himself, that he had scruples. Not many scruples, perhaps, but he had them nonetheless. Were Keith anything other than drunk and defenseless right now, he wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of this situation. But there was something indefinably wrong about jumping your friend when he was too drunk to see straight, and not an iota of which stemmed from the fact that there was the distinct possibility that he wouldn’t remember a thing; or, if he did, that he’d kick Lance’s ass into next Tuesday.

Still, the only way Keith was getting into his bed tonight was if he was squeaky clean.

With the mantra of “do not grope him” running through his head, Lance made his way back to Keith and the shower. His shower shoes squeaked with every step, and the old floor boards creaked alarmingly, making Lance wonder if at the next step the doors lining the hall would swing open and hundreds of accusing eyes would stare straight through his soul and know his dark, dirty thoughts.

But his paranoid delusions went unrealized, and nothing impeded his progress from his room to the stall where Keith sat in the shower stall, naked and delectable, and sober enough to get the water hot enough that a cloud of steam billowed around his lean body. Lance’s throat went dry at the sight, and he almost, almost, thought that maybe Sven had had a point; that maybe he wasn’t man enough to resist his appetites for tonight and just be the friend that Keith needed.

“Hi,” Keith said.

“Hi.”

“Are you going to wash my back for me?”

Lance almost said no at this point, because he was beginning to suspect that there was no way in hell that he’d be able to keep his hands off of Keith if he got into the shower with him, but Keith sounded so drunk and innocent and boyish that, despite his marginally better judgment, Lance nodded and stepped into the stall.

Keith’s smile was almost—almost—enough to make him cum right there and then.

He never knew how he did it, when he tried to remember later, but somehow he managed to get through that nerve-racking shower without making a fool of either himself or Keith. A major accomplishment, in his mind. If Keith had been sober, Lance was sure he’d have agreed. Of course, if Keith had been sober, they wouldn’t have been in this mess in the first place, so maybe it was a moot point. Anyway, no matter how they’d managed it, Keith was clean and somewhat dry and currently wrapped in Lance’s favorite robe, the one with the Gryffendor logo on the back, and if Lance didn’t jerk off soon he was going to rip that robe right off and have his way with Keith right here, right now.

“Keith, go brush your teeth,” he said instead.

“What?”

“Your teeth. Go brush them.”

“Aren’t you going to brush yours?”

Lance shook his head and bit down on his tongue. Hard. He was _not_ going to let Keith get to him. He wasn’t. But damn if he didn’t wish somebody had told him what to do in a situation like this.

“I, um, I have to take my shower.” Lance silently begged whatever deity might still be watching over him that Keith would be drunk enough, still, to buy this excuse. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Okay.” Keith wandered off, presumably in the direction of the sinks, and Lance leaned back against the shower wall with a sigh. He peeled off his boxers and let the warm water wash over his body, over his painful erection. He began to stroke himself, then pull, harder than normal, punishing himself for his thoughts, for the fact that knowing that Keith was just beyond that curtain, could pull back that thin, feeble piece of plastic and expose him to the world, that Keith was just over there, that he was, that—

Oh God.

Pleasure constricted his chest and he couldn’t breathe, could only stand with his mouth gaping wide as he came hard and fast. He shuddered when he stopped feeling even more drained than usual, and leaned back and watched his cum spiral away down the drain. With an incredible lethargy, Lance washed his body again, erased the physical evidence of his mental crime, and then pulled his soggy boxers back on. He stepped out of the stall and wrapped his towel about his body, and went to go collect Keith.

They stumbled back down the hallway, and it was only Lance’s hand on Keith’s mouth that kept him from singing show tunes; if he hadn’t, then those hundreds of eyes really would appear and stare straight through Lance.

By the time they made it to Lance’s room, and Lance managed to convince Keith to wear his best pair of PJs (the ones with the shirt and without the pictures of sleeping dogs all over them), and bundled Keith into his bed, and then gotten into his own pair of PJs (which had a huge hole in the right knee, and were pink gingham and missing the shirt; Lance thought they were very cute, thank-you-very-much, but they just screamed gay. In Neon.), Lance wasn’t even thinking about sex anymore. Right now, he was so tired that all he wanted was twelve good hours of uninterrupted sleep; and, what with Sven sleeping in the lounge, there was that extra bed, so there was definitely a good chance of that happening.

But Keith had other ideas, and he grabbed Lance’s hand and rolled, so that Lance pitched forward into bed. And when Keith had a hold of something he didn’t let it go, whether it was an idea or Lance’s hand.

 _Fuck it,_ Lance thought and he sighed. He’d get his hand back when Keith fell asleep. But until then, he’d just close his eyes for a second—a second—to just give them a little rest. That’s all they needed, a little rest.

Five seconds later, he was out like a light and snoring like a chainsaw.

Keith smiled in the dark and snuggled closer.

~~~

The best part about Lance’s bed was that it was situated so that the sun didn’t shine on the sleepers face until at least 11-ish or so. Until that time, the sun was an extra blanket that crept slowly up the body; this was quite unlike normal blankets, which slid further down as sleep progressed.

Keith watched this phenomenon through lazy, hooded eyes from his place on Lance’s chest, a small, secret smile gracing his lips.

This was a thousand times better than it had ever been with Brian. Not like Brian had been a bad boyfriend—especially as a first boyfriend—or anything, but there was something about waking in Lance’s bed and listening to his heart beating slow and steady, that just blew Brian out of the water.

 _Today,_ Keith decided. _Today I’ll tell Lance._

He wondered how his friend would take it.

It wasn’t that he was worried. Well, not really any way. He already knew Lance was gay, had known since that night several months ago when Lance had blurted out this fact in the midst of a drinking binge, and the passed out. He was just a little...curious as to how Lance would react to the knowledge that he was the reason that Keith thought that he, maybe, was gay.

Well, actually, more like _certain_ that he was gay.

Or, if not gay, then incredibly, incredibly, attracted to Lance. So much so that he no longer noticed girls, or even other guys.

Which, Keith thought, was probably why Brian had dumped him.

The only _real_ problem Keith could see about explaining all of this to Lance was finding some way to gloss over the fact that he wasn’t really as drunk as he’d appeared last night. Oh, sure, he’d been trying to achieve complete liver failure earlier that evening, but after he puked—and he still wasn’t sure when he’d eaten that corndog—he’d sobered up enough that he could have made it back to his room just fine. After Lance had thrown him into the cold shower, he’d been dead, cold, painfully sober. Not like that fact hadn’t stopped him from letting his, well, his flat-out horniness run mildly rampant.

But that conversation could wait until Lance was awake.

Keith pulled himself closer to Lance and sighed, wanting only to bury himself in the warm, sweet flesh that lay beneath him. How wonderful would it be if time stopped and let them have this moment of illusory love forever?

But the gods hated Keith, and Sven chose that moment, that particular golden moment, to come back into the room.

“What the fuck?” He said, and then, “Lance!”

“What? Pi cubed!” Lance sat up and dislodged Keith, who made an unhappy noise, which caused Lance to look down and then scramble out of his bed as if the fires of a thousand hells were right behind him. “Keith? Sven! Um. Nothing happened?”

“Fucking—Lance, you _swore_ you knew better!” Sven was so mad his cheeks had gone white.

“But—“ Lance looked down at himself, and then over at the bed, and then back down again. His sleep-fuzzed mind tried to recall what had happened last night, and the best he could remember was that Keith had pulled _him_ into bed, and not the other way around. But that couldn’t be right.

“Keith dragged me into bed?” he said anyway.

“Yeah, right. You know what? I’m going to end this right now. It’s not healthy, Lance, and someday you’ll probably stop hating me.” Sven turned to Keith who still lay in Lance’s bed. “Keith—“

“No!” Lance cried.

“Keith, Lance is gay.”

Lance cringed, and looked about ready to die. Keith sat up, languid and calm.

“And? I already knew that, Sven.” Keith took a moment to revel in his friend’s flabbergasted expressions before firming his expression and turning to Sven. “Listen. Lance and I need to talk about something, so you’re going to have to leave for a little while, all right?”

The Swede blinked and then shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

Sven left, mumbling under his breath about this really not being the way he wanted to start a morning. Lance just looked at Keith, eyes wide, his body trembling with fear.

“Lance, you might want to sit down,” Keith said. Lance didn’t move, so Keith decided to go ahead. “Lance, I’m gay.”

At that Lance did sit, legs crumbling beneath him, mouth agape as wheezing noises forced their way out of him.

“And,” here Keith took a deep breath to steady his nerves and hope that he _had_ been reading Lance’s attention correctly, “I have a, um, a crush on you.”

Lance took a deep breath, and closed his eyes for moment. When he opened them, he appeared slightly calmer than before, but Keith saw that his hands were shaking and he knew the truth. Still, the ball was in Lance’s court now and all Keith could do was wait and let the other make the first move.

“Really,” Lance said.

“Yup.”

“You’re not confused? Not, you know, experimenting?”

“Nope. I’ve done that already. I wanted to be sure that I wasn’t, you know, going through a phase before I told you.”

“Okay.” Lance took another deep breath and thought for a good long while. Keith sat patiently. “Okay.”

Lance stood and walked, slowly, to the bed and Keith who tilted his head in anticipation. Lance reached out, cupped Keith’s chin with his long, trembling fingers, ran his other hand through Keith’s silken hair. He leaned down, brought their faces so close that he could feel Keith’s breath against his lips.

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure,” Keith whispered.

“Good.” Lance brushed his lips against Keith’s cheek, felt the other boy’s pulse race in response. “Good.”


End file.
